Pretty Little Wife(20)
Roland frowned as he pushed her reading glasses up for her. “You think it’s all linked?”
“No.”
He kissed the sleeve of her robe. “Then I don’t understand why I’m sleeping alone.”
“Can one person be that unlucky?”
“I thought you said he could be out with a girlfriend or driving to Vegas or doing something fun.”
Without thinking, her fingers went to his hair. Heat thrummed off him, wrapping around her. “It feels like the wrong answer.”
“Boring high school teacher gone wild doesn’t work for you?” He lifted his head and watched her. The amusement in his voice faded by the end of the question, as if he started to doubt his original assessment of Aaron. “I mean, it’s not as if your gut is ever wrong.”
“He’s a millionaire, or so his wife says. He’s had the chance to take the money and live it up and hasn’t.”
From the first call that came in, people spoke of Aaron’s disappearance with a sense of urgency. No one thought he’d slept in or driven away without warning. All three people who called insisted he would be at school unless he couldn’t be. That’s who he was. A grown man who showed up. Add in the money and resources he had and how long he’d had them without acting out, and she doubted he was a man overstaying his lounging time.
Roland hummed as he nodded. “Midlife crisis?”
“He’s not even forty.”
His fingers slipped through hers, and she squeezed his hand. “Is that the age for it?”
“If so, you missed it.” Thank God. “The idea of having a useless husband sounds like a nightmare.”
She had friends who put up with that nonsense. Not her. She wanted a partner, not another child in a grown-up body.
He’d always been steady. Present. Supportive. Driven. A little too set in his ways, but a loving dad and husband. As a child of divorce, he fought hard for their marriage. They’d hit rough patches and lived through a painful year filled with yelling and disappointment when they both hated their jobs and their expenses didn’t allow for a change.
“I don’t need anything but what I’ve got right here.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of hers.
“Sweet-talker.” She loved them now. How they fit together. They’d settled into this spot where they connected and listened to each other. Probably had something to do with Kingston turning sixteen and already shifting out of the horrors of being fifteen and thinking he knew everything. She did not enjoy that stage and was happy to see it go.
Roland stood up, never letting go of her hand. “Any chance I can sweet-talk you into coming to bed?”
“I want to be ready when I speak with Lila again tomorrow.”
“You sound like you’re sparring with this woman.”
The visual imagine struck her as right. “I have a feeling every conversation with Lila Ridgefield will demand I be at the top of my game.”
He kissed her forehead. “You always are.”
No, she’d made mistakes. Not listened to her gut. Let protocol and red tape stop her. Gotten into battles with her boss and lost her way.
Not this time.
LILA CRAVED SLEEP, but her body fought it even harder than usual.
The day’s chaos gave way to an eerily quiet night. After all the calls and running around, the hours lapsed into a foreboding silence as if she were on the edge of something so menacing, so unexpected, that she could not afford the vulnerability of sleep.
Brent and Jared had brought dinner. They hovered for hours. Talked about kicking Aaron’s ass when he showed up from a few days away fishing. Cassie came over with pound cake but only lasted a half hour when no one picked up any of the inane conversation starters she kept dropping.
Lots of mindless chatter but no answers. No movement.
Now, with everyone gone, her mind filled with what-ifs and a list of should-have-done tactics. Thinking about all of that time and work being wasted, about him walking the streets, ratcheted up the pounding inside her. Panic hummed in her ears. Tension swept over her and through the house. The walls practically thumped with it.
She focused all of her control on keeping her body moving, on ready. Aaron could creep back. Walk in. Break a window. Go to the police. The endless possibilities swirled in her brain, making the breath hiccup in her chest.
They’d disconnected the house alarm a few weeks ago. Now she needed it.
Standing in front of the living room’s oversize windows made her a target. The position also let her keep watch. The houses around her were mostly protected by tall hedges with blind spots perfect to hide a stalker. She could see a light on here and there. The house directly across from her stood in shadowed darkness, a vague outline of a two-story colonial with only the soft yellow porch light to suggest someone lived there.
The Johnsons. Daniel commuted from Ithaca to Albany every Monday and came home late Thursday. Sherri, likely exhausted from bundling up and dragging three kids under five everywhere on her own, turned off the lights and shut out the world by nine. Now, well after eleven, she’d been out for hours.
Lila envied her. Both of them, really. Her for being too tired to move and him for being anywhere but here.
With one hand clenched on her cell and the other resting on her stomach over the soft cotton of her pajama top, Lila continued to watch, forcing her eyes to stay open until fatigued by the strain, tears pooled at the edges. Still, she stood in the darkness of her quiet house and scanned every inch of sidewalk. Studied every tree and every branch, looking for movement.